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There was a gentle knock at Hiroaki's door, followed by Ojima's voice. Hiroaki scrambles to recap the bottle of cyanide and hide it. He fumbles with it and it falls somewhere on the floor, but it's too late. The door opened and Ojima stepped into the room. “Nakamigawa?”
“T-Takeshi, what— what are you doing here?” Hiroaki stumbles out of his bed and to his desk, trying to cover up the note. Of course, that draws Ojima's attention to it. His mismatched and suspicious blue eyes flick from his desk to something toward the end of the bed.
“What's this?” Ojima reaches to pick the bottle from the floor. Hiroaki's breath catches in his throat. He knows he's fucked. He knows he knows. “N-Nakamigawa—”
“Wait, I can explain!” Hiroaki exhaled through his cheeks and stared at Ojima, who ran his fingers down the bottle's label. Then he hesitated; he didn't have to explain himself away to Ojima, but there was a small part of him that wanted to. Maybe it was a cry for help, perhaps it was the desire to be something good for Ojima— to show Hiroaki wasn't trying to be a killer.
Ojima started to have that faraway look in his eyes that disappeared after blinking a couple of times. He slowly raised his head to look at Hiroaki, then at the single sheet of paper behind him, and put two and two together. “Nakamigawa, what— why?! You can't just… that's so… why didn't you just come to me?”
“I-I didn't think you'd— I honestly didn't think y-you’d want to hear it, I didn't think you'd want to help me. I fucked up bad, Takeshi. I-I thought we were done for.”
Ojima shook his head quickly, “No, no— I was mad at you, but it's not like I hated you. The world isn't— I'm not black and white like that. Nakamigawa… fuck, Nakamigawa….”
He touched his wrist to his eye, trying to staunch the flow of tears. Ojima was careful not to bring the bottle near his face. Hiroaki's heart felt like it was breaking. He did that. He was making Ojima cry.
But why? Ojima was mad at him, he said so himself. Hiroaki would think that he'd want something like this, that he'd pray for Hiroaki's downfall. Maybe he didn't want him dead, but surely he wanted him to suffer? That's just how it worked. That's just how Hiroaki worked.
But… upon further reflection… he doesn't think he'd ever want Ojima to suffer, even if he were mad at him. And he was! At least for a short while.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nagawa… y-you don’t… You don’t understand how much I need you here with me.”
“You… what?” Hiroaki wasn't sure what he had just heard. Need him there? Ojima needs him there? What? How? Why?
“I need you here,” Ojima whispers. It's followed by a sob.
“Takeshi…” he sobs, too.
Ojima makes his way over to him, discarding the bottle on the desk along the way, and hugs him. At first, Hiroaki didn't believe he deserved the hug, but he decided fuck it, and hugged him back anyway.
It was nice. Ojima’s hugs were always nice.